


Alexander

by BurningBehindMyEyes



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Gen, PTSD, Seven Deadly Sins, Wrath and Pride, to be specific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 01:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10753971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningBehindMyEyes/pseuds/BurningBehindMyEyes
Summary: I was a small child. Little. Locked in a tower, away from the outside world, so that my brother could go out and deal with the war. I stayed with my Mother and Father, and Alex visited when he could. Things were better then. Before my thoughts ran red with blood that wasn't mine, the colour staining what I knew and what I loved and at the center of it all, we had become victims warriors and-Sins.





	Alexander

I was born on a cold winter’s morning, in the early hours. My mother always said that the frost had not yet melted, and was glittering like tiny jewels whilst clinging to the grass. She had seen the patterns the crystals of frozen water had created, and thought to herself, “It almost looks like gossamer.”

 **Gossamer:** _noun, used in reference to something insubstantial and delicate._

That, is how I got my name. She said the first day I opened my eyes, she could see similar jewels sparkling in their depths. In my depths. She told me that I had come out kicking and screaming, already demanding answers from the world, despite my young age and inability to talk. Mother spoke of a younger version of me often, whenever she had time to spend with me. As she brushed my hair, she would tell me stories in her soft, gentle voice. I remember countless nights of being soothed to sleep by her lullabies, the crackling of the fire being the perfect background noise. Her name was Gina.

 **Gina:** _proper noun, of Hebrew origin, meaning “garden”_

I found her in the garden. My body was already numb, my mind spinning from all the questions I was asking. I remember the soft feel of the grass under my feet, the first time I had ever felt it. I barely felt my eyes widen as I took her in, I remember the smell that was in the air. Thick, choking, but at the same time… intoxicating. Blood. The grass was drenched with the substance, the liquid of life that poured freely from a wound in her chest. It looked like she had been hit so very hard in the torso, that all her ribs caved in and crushed her lungs. There was a trail of blood running from her delicate lips, which I had inherited from her, down her face, matting in the silvery blonde hair that was in a ripped mess. Someone had pulled half of it off. I was filled with a sort of annoyance - I liked her hair. Why would anyone pull it off?

 **Polaris:** _proper noun, the true name of the North Star_

I found him when I first exited my room, when I could still actually feel things. I had reached for the door with trembling fingers and shaky steps, my fear coursing through my veins like liquid fire. I could feel every beat my heart created, every breath that my body exhaled, and for a moment, I believed that breath to be my last. I fought against the coming panic attack, breathing evenly as I merely grabbed the door handle. I took a deep breath, no gunshots, nor cannon fire disrupting me. All was quiet. I opened the door… and saw him. My pupils became smaller and smaller, my mouth opened, my fingers falling from the door handle. He was lying on the wall opposite me, blood staining the stone. I tried to step forwards, to see if he was alive, but I could not move. I could only stand there. I could feel tears coursing down my cheeks, and it felt as if I were the one shot through my middle with a cannon, my legs missing. Pain coursed through my body, and I fell to my knees, and screamed to the sky. I screamed as I lost my mind, I screamed as blood filled my vision and became the everything I saw. The world faded away in the colour as I lost myself in who he used to be. His name was Polaris, and he was like the North Star. He guided others, he saved others, and he helped all those who needed him. Sure, he could be strict… but he was my father. I lost my mind to the insanity, but I was too drunk on the scent of his blood to understand. That was the day I began to think that the idea of death… perhaps wasn’t such a bad thing.

 **Insanity:** _noun, the state of being trapped in madness created by your mind_

So when I found Mother, I didn’t panic. I had seen much bloodshed on the way to the garden, and I was hoping the strawberry plants I had liked to watch were still there. Of course they were not - Mother’s body had crushed them. I smiled at her, and I wished her well. I wandered aimlessly, checking out the other bodies. But they were all the same; broken bones, blood, and peaceful expressions. I smiled, my lips stretching from ear to ear. This was beautiful! Red was such a pretty colour after all. These people were lucky to be painted in it. I returned to the wall opposite my bedroom, patting my father’s dark hair, the hair I had inherited, and shuffling through his bloodstained cloak. I smiled and buried my face in the fur of the old king’s cloak, greedily sucking in the coppery scent I had come to depend on. Father was dead, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me using his blood. I reached into the pocket, and brought out a small dagger Father had always carried around. I smiled at the blood red ruby in the center of the grip, running my hands over it delicately.

 **Madness:** _noun, the state of being seriously mentally ill_

“Thank you, Daddy.” I had giggled. “I’ll make sure that I use this. After all, red is my favourite colour now! Perhaps Alexander would like to see it too? I bet he’d like that.” I smiled at my Father, and kissed his cheek before skipping away, my mind wandering. I smiled at all the corpses, enjoying the red they had so graciously painted themselves with. Hm. I stopped for a moment. Alexander. How come he wasn’t here? Did he already paint himself with red?

 **Alexander:** _proper noun, meaning “protector of man”_

When Alexander actually was in the castle, he was either in his room or with me. Or so I was told. I shrugged and skipped my way to his room, calling out cheerfully as I opened the handle. I peeked inside, curious at the lack of any destruction. The rest of the castle was burned and destroyed. Why not here? I looked around, noticing some papers shuffled around, like the person touching them had been in quite the hurry. I looked them over, reading the notes.

_Plans have come together. I will be crowned king of a better, stronger nation, once the others win this war. My family will perish, but it is a small price to pay for the good of all. The invasion will commence in one day’s time, but I will be long gone. I will return for Gossamer, after I become crowned as the prince, of course. Please, all who may read this, wish me luck on my conquest of the world! I will live up to who I named for - Alexander the Great!  
-Prince Alexander_

The first thing that registered was my heartbeat, slowly, painfully, increasing. My eyes widened as my grip slackened, the papers falling out of my hands and onto the floor. I stared at the wall ahead of me, knowing. Understanding… just who Alexander was. I stared at the papers of the floor, and I smiled. He… flashes of red went by my vision, and I sunk into the blackness, my body beginning to laugh. He had done this! He had painted them in red! I would never see them move again. This offence, this crime, this murder…

**Was all his fault.**

That was the day I decided I would end lives. I would paint the whole world with red, and would only be stopped when I could paint Alexander in it too. I set off with that purpose, the one goal driving me and causing me to rally others. I had soon formed a miniature army, appointed generals, and allowed pawns to come under my wing. I was their head, their leader. I had more bad days than most, ranging from taking a blade to my skin in order to paint myself in red, to seeing my dark hair, knowing my once-brother, now-target, had touched it. During that episode, I took a blade to my hair and chopped some of it off. Afterwards, I tied it up and pretended it did not exist.

 **Post Traumatic Stress Disorder:** _noun, the state of mind after trauma, usually revisiting trauma and ignoring outside world_

I harmed myself many times, I trained harder than everyone, and I marked my skin. I looked myself in the eye, and I was painted with red. I had smiled, ready to pass on the colour. I had originally intended to do it during his pathetic speech… but something stopped me. I stood in the crowd, my head down, feeling his burning gaze atop me. I didn’t look up. I refused to look up. Moments before, I had received a message from one of our spies. Alexander, if he even deserved a name at this point, had murdered the old king. I was filled with a wrath, with a fury I had never even considered to be within myself. It was bigger than insanity, bigger than blood, so when I finally did raise my head, I truly decided to kill my target. After all, if I were to kill him, I would need to look him in the eyes and tell him exactly just what he had done to me.

 **Wrath (as a noun):** _noun, a consuming sense of powerful anger_

After two months, I led my army to his gates. We marched in, demanding his presence. He came, just as I knew he would. I saw him take in my new appearance, scarred and unruly, and watched as he stiffened with shock. I raised my head, and I told him exactly what he had done to me. What he had done to everyone. I spoke of the fires, of the blood, of the bodies.

**Wrath:** _one of the Seven Deadly Sins - an unpardonable sin creating a total loss of grace_

He didn’t stop me as I plunged Father’s dagger between his ribs. He didn’t protest, he didn’t fight. He accepted his fate. But he didn’t regret anything. So, I smiled. So stubborn. He always was, I was just too blind to see it. He had always been prideful, I just refused to acknowledge it until it was too late. I poured all of my misery, all of my true insanity into that smile, showing him my true intentions. I didn’t just want to kill him… I wanted to break him. I watched as he fell from his horse, as people started screaming, as his blood stained the ground. 

****Pride (as a noun):** _noun, a personality flaw - having a too high opinion of oneself_ **

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My smile tainted his memories of me, and he knew he had broken me first. As I watched him fall, my smile never faltered once. He couldn’t hurt me anymore, but there wasn’t an inch of me that hadn’t already been hurt. I was strong, strong enough to never have to feel emotions ever again. I watched as he breathed his last breath, the sounds of battle around me fading as I stared at his face. 

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**Pride:** _one of the Seven Deadly Sins, thought to be the gateway to all other Sins, the excessive belief in one’s abilities_

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I was eleven when I became a victim. I was twelve when I became a murderer. For a good cause, though, all of it was for a good cause. Death was the only way to save him. His was name was Alexander, and he was my brother. 

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_But he became **pride**._

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**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you liked it. ^-^


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